


Snow Angels

by wordaesthetic



Category: Supernatural, Superwholock - Fandom, destiel - Fandom
Genre: Fan Art, General fiction, Multi, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:12:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordaesthetic/pseuds/wordaesthetic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester lives an average, middle class life. When he goes to a simple coffee shop, he meets someone who will change his life. He lives a simple life as a crime inspector and works at car garage, in order to support him and his brother. When tragedy strikes, will they manage to get through it all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow Angels

 

"Cause maybe you're loveable,

and maybe you're my snowflake,

and your eyes turn from green to gray,

in the winter I'll hold you in a cold place."

~ Ed Sheeran

 

 

It was cold. The kind of day where the world slows down and bundles itself up. The trees were bare, some still clinging to the last glimpses of autumn. Leaves fluttered stiffly against the ground, and the sky was a sunken gray mass.

Dean pulled his jacket around him tighter and breathed into his hands to warm them. His breath billowed out in front of him like cigarette smoke. He walked along the sidewalk in the direction of the town houses. From his distance, he could just make out the shape of his own. He and Sam were renting it together, until Sammy got his feet. Dean's brother had just graduated from college, and was looking for jobs. He only needed to stay with Dean until he got a job and enough money to get his own place. Dean knew Sam wanted a place to live with his girlfriend Jessica, on their own. Until then, Sam often went out in search for jobs or just to be with Jess.

Dean got to the door and fumbled in his pocket for the keys. The frigid metal seemed to burn his hands as he jammed them into the door and shoved it open. Quickly, he slammed it shut. The house was warm, like jumping into a sauna from an ice bath. He sighed and kicked off his boots.

"Sammy?" He called, looking around the cluttered living room. When there was no response, Dean frowned. He went down the hallway into the kitchen. He stripped of his jacket and threw it onto an empty chair. No Sam here either. "Kid's probably out with Jess again." He grumbled, and swung open a cabinet.

He jostled some things around inside, and pulled out the jar of coffee. Opening it, he frowned again. They were out. He chucked it back in the cabinet and slammed the cabinet door shut. Going to the kitchen table, he flopped in a chair, and took the manila folder from the top of a pile of papers. Opening it, he saw the pictures and description of the case and he sighed. He sat for awhile, rereading the case and looking over the pictures. Eventually, his eyes started to get fuzzy and he jerked away from the folder.

He needed caffeine. He jumped up and shrugged on his jacket, stuffing the folder in an inside pocket, and headed for the door. He shoved his boots on and braced himself for the cold. As he stepped out the door, he could almost smell the coldness in the air. _It's gonna snow, I bet._ He thought, glancing at the bulging sky.

A coffee shop was about a twenty minute walk from his house, and he set off at a brisk pace, pulling his jacket around him.

~~~~~

By the time Dean reached the little coffee shop, his teeth were chattering. The gas station he'd passed had said it was twenty five degrees. He shoved inside the shop, a little bell tinkling as the door shut with a smack.The shop smelled of coffee and cinnamon, and Dean breathed it in. He shuffled up to the counter and the lady there smiled at him.

"May I help you?" She asked, smiling. She was pretty. Her name tag read "Meg."

"Uh, yeah. Coffee... black." He smiled, and added, "Thanks."

"Alright, what's your name?" Meg asked, turning to the coffee maker.

"Dean Winchester." He replied, and turned to go sit at a table. He chose a chair facing the window and pulled out the folder from his pocket. He opened it up on the table and started looking it over again.

After a couple minutes, Meg called his name. He went to the counter and she handed him his coffee. "That'll be $2.45."

Dean reached into his pocket and drew out a dollar. He realized too late that he'd forgotten his wallet. The door bell tinkled as someone quickly bustled in. A gust of freezing air chilled Dean's body. He looked up and saw another man, probably his age. Meg cleared her throat and he searched his other pockets. He managed to muster up was a quarter.

He handed Meg the money with an embarrassed look. "That's all I got."

She frowned as she looked at the money. "That's not gonna pay for it. Sorry."

_Shit._ Dean could feel the new arrival's gaze boring into the back of his head. "Right... okay. Sorry."

He was about to shuffle away when the man behind him spoke in a husky voice. "Here, how much do you need?"

Dean's face flushed with anger and humiliation. He turned his head. "Dude, I got this under control. Butt out."

The guy fixed Dean with a crystal blue gaze and shrugged. He pushed past Dean and went to the counter. "How much?" he asked Meg.

Dean felt like punching this guy, or maybe just bursting to flames in the middle of the shop. Anything to just get away from this humiliation. The guy payed for Dean's coffee and ordered one for himself. Dean had his coffee thrust into his hands. He muttered a "thanks" and he avoided the man's eyes. Instead, he slunk off to his table and tried to concentrate on the case.

The other guy went to another table across the room, and opened a book. Dean found his eyes flicking over to the man. He was wearing a pair of black pants, a coat, and a pair of black gloves. The radio was playing some Coldplay song, and Dean looked back down at the case.

' Alexis Finch. Police suspected it to be suicide. Jumped in front of a train. The mother thinks it was murder, since her daughter did not show any signs of depression or any of that sort.' Dean looked at the pictures of the body, and it did seem to show signs of a struggle. Even if she had committed suicide, something had happened before hand.

Dean sighed, and looked out the big window of the coffee shop. He took a sip of his coffee. Little flakes of white floated down from the sky now, and stuck to the ground. The whole street outside seemed empty and calm.

The other man in the shop was looking out at the snow too. Dean noticed a little smile creep onto the man's face at the sight of the snow. The guy had his coffee now, and he turned to take a sip. His eyes flicked up to meet Dean's and Dean jerked his eyes away. Looking down, he shuffled the papers back into the folder and shoved it into his pocket. He quickly nodded a goodbye to the girl, Meg, and headed for the door.

The man's eyes were on his book again, but as Dean looked, they flitted back to his face. The guy smiled and Dean looked away quickly. He pushed the door open and headed up the street, walking as fast as he could. Snowflakes fell onto his hair and eye lashes and jacket. His breath swelled in the air, and he shivered. His jacket barely blocked the cold and he could feel his body shivering. He pulled the jacket tighter around his body.

"Hey!" A husky voice called, and Dean turned. The man from the coffee shop was walking towards him, holding some papers. "You dropped these."

Dean narrowed his eyes grumpily. _So much for getting away from this guy._ Dean watched as the man rushed over and shoved the papers at him. Looking down, he saw they were pictures of the case, and he quickly stuffed them away. "You- you saw _no_ thing." He motioned with his hands at the man, and the guy shook his head.

Dean opened his mouth to say something else, but the bright blue eyes locked with his. He nodded once, looking down, and turned to continue his journey home. He walked for a while, before realizing the man was trekking along about six feet behind. He glanced over his shoulder and started walking faster. The man seemed to take no notice, instead he was looking at the ground. Dean turned back around but a moment later he snapped.

He turned to face the man, and tried to seem threatening. "Can I help you?"

The man shrugged. "Maybe?"

Dean sighed with exasperation. "Why are you following me?" He narrowed his eyes.

"I'm just going home."

The conversation dropped there.

The two walked for a while longer, but the silence was stretching into the "there's no way to make this less awkward, unless we actually talk"- zone. Sighing out a cloud of air, Dean slowed and let the guy catch up.

He breathed in and looked over at the guy's face. His mind blanked.

The guy looked over and blinked. "Hello."

"...So... you live near here?" He tried to say it nonchalantly, but it probably sounded forced.

The guy didn't seem to mind if Dean was awkward and nodded, "Oh yes, I live about seven streets up."

"Right. So what's your name anyway?" Dean looked ahead as the snow settled on the man's hair, and he added,"Mine's Dean."

"Hello Dean," He reached a hand over and took Dean's hand. He shook it politely and let go quickly. "I'm Castiel. You can call me Cas, if you'd like."

Dean felt the warmth of Castiel's hand through the gloves, and when the hand pulled away his hand turned to ice. They walked in silence again, but this time Dean didn't feel awkward. He watched the snow float up off the ground as his boots scuffed against the sidewalk. When Castiel's gaze was no longer in his peripheral vision, Dean looked up. Cas was looking at the sky, letting the snowflakes fall onto his face.

Cas' mouth peeked open and the tip of his tongue caught a snowflake. Dean couldn't help laughing, and Cas jerked his head to look at him.

"What?"

"It's just- you. Eating snow like a kid," Dean chuckled.

Cas smiled. "Don't you like snow?" He turned his eyes towards Dean and this time Dean met them. They sparked with innocence and humor, and love for the world. Dean felt a strange longing to feel the emotion that Cas' eyes held.

He shrugged in reply, and looked up at the snow, too. The little flakes floated peacefully down, and Dean felt something in his heart sigh. He did like snow.

Dean skidded to a stop as Cas turned abruptly. "What are you doing?" He asked, as the man cut in front of him.

Cas pointed at the house they had stopped in front of. "I live here."

Dean looked up at the house. Jeez, that guy had a nice house. It wasn't a cheap town house like Dean's. Instead it was a big white home, with dark blue shutters and door, and a porch with a bench.

"Nice place." He said, turning his gaze back to Castiel.

Cas shrugged. "Eh- it's lonely."

He glared at his house with a look of distaste for a moment.  Then, he turned and waved a goodbye to Dean. Dean watched as he went into the house, shutting the door with a brief glance back at Dean.

Dean stood for a few seconds, gazing at the door. His breath puffed out around his face, and he pulled his jacket tighter, finally noticing that he was shivering. He trudged along the walk, kicking up snow that settled on the ground like powdered sugar. His footprints left a lonely trail back to his house.


End file.
